


The World Is On Fire And No One Can Save Me But You

by kristen999



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Competent Buck, Competent Eddie, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Resonders, M/M, Medic Eddie, tense situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29679330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen999/pseuds/kristen999
Summary: “This is a riot, not Afghanistan,” Buck blurted.“And I’m trained Army medic,” Eddie said, stepping forward. “This is just another battlefield with a whole lot of civilians caught up in the middle.”Buck understood Eddie’s desire to jump in and help, felt it in his very bones, and a tiny part of him was screaming about rules and regulations, but then again, how often did he ignore those? “Well, you’re not going back there alone.”
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 321





	The World Is On Fire And No One Can Save Me But You

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:Thank you to Gaelicspirit and Stellarmeadow for their awesome beta and suggestions!

* * *

Traffic was snarled, red lights were ignored, people slammed on their cars horns, and all three rigs were stuck in the middle of it.

“What’s the latest, Cap?” he asked over the radio. 

_“Reports are sporadic,”_ Bobby replied. _“Crowds are heading toward City Hall and counter-protestors are marching up Grand Avenue and Broadway.”_

A bunch of far-right extremists and college kids mixing it up downtown, that wasn’t a recipe for disaster. 

Eddie pulled up Google maps on his phone, showing the results to Buck. “That puts people on the west and east side of the main square.”

“And we’re driving down 1st Street,” Buck peered at the growing swarms of people. “Which means…?”

“That almost every route going in and out of downtown is blocked.” Eddie studied the screen, his jaw tight. “It’s going to be a challenge to get around.”

Buck watched in fascination as Eddie navigated through various maps, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“I thought you hated technology?”

“I like knowing the layout of an area that’s probably going to get hairy,” Eddie said, scrolling through his phone.

The fire truck pulled into the parking-lot of a museum. “This is far as we can go,” Hen shouted. “I can’t get any closer.”

 _“Make sure you have your gas masks,”_ Bobby ordered over the coms.

Buck grabbed his, then nodded at Eddie, the two of them hopping outside.

Eddie tossed Hen and Buck each a roll of duct tape, the three of them placing large X’s in each window of the rig to prevent possible damage.

* * *

Sounds clashed: angry shouting, chanting, blowing whistles. It was like a music festival that had just let out and fans of punk, country, and hip-hop were all vying for the exits after drinking way too much Red Bull.

Buck adjusted the strap to his kit across his shoulder and flinched at string of _popping_ noises in the distance. “Are those firecrackers?”

“Flash bangs,” Eddie said without missing a beat.

All the hair along Buck’s neck stood on end. He swallowed; everywhere he looked people hurried toward the city square, the collective sense of anger sent his pulse racing. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he squinted at their truck. “Where’s everyone else?”

Hen hurried over. “Bobby just radioed that he and Chim had to stop and help with a multiple vehicle accident six blocks away.”

Sirens blared as three police cars went at a snail’s pace because of the logjam of cars in the roads. Someone on stilts started walking around the patrol vehicles while yelling at the drivers through a bull horn.

“This looks like a damn circus,” Hen said, scanning the area.

The sidewalks surrounding the parking lot weren’t big enough to keep people from spilling out into traffic where cars were still navigating the busy intersection. Buck couldn’t even see the library building he knew was across the street because of the growing numbers.

“I thought this would have all been blocked off,” Buck muttered. And where were the remote medical sites and command center? 

Eddie gestured at a few people running toward them. “Head’s up.”

Two women broke though lines of people. “Hey! We need help!”

Buck ran toward them with Eddie and Hen hot on his heels. 

“We think someone’s having a heart attack!” one of the women shouted. “They collapsed in front of the benches across the street!”

Buck glanced at Hen and Eddie before nodding at the women. “Show us.”

* * *

The sun beat down on Buck as he bagged their victim, his turnout gear slowly roasting him. Eddie ran an IV, eyes flicking to display of the automated external defibrillator. 

Hen counted off compressions. “One, two, three.”

Together they kept a man alive while people walked around them like their existence was an inconvenience. Buck fought the urge to elbow people’s legs as they got too close. 

“LAFD, give us space!” Eddie shouted every few minutes, as he Eddie administered ephedrine, their sixty-year-old victim slowly responding to it, but there wasn't a way for them to transfer him to safety.

“This is Wilson with the 118,” Hen radioed for the second time, her voice tight. “Request immediate medical assistance, we need transport to Mercy, over.”

The dispatched promised a unit was a block away, but that had been six minutes ago.

Hen looked around from her crouched position over their patient. “EMS can’t see us with all this commotion.”

Swearing under his breath, Eddie jumped onto the nearby bench and curled his hands around his mouth, shouting his identification and location.

An EMT team with a backboard shouldered their way through the growing masses two minutes later. 

“We’ve got this,” one of the paramedics said. “We’re parked on the sidewalk a few meters down.”

Buck’s radio came to life, Hen’s and Eddie’s echoing at the same time. _“We need all available first responders to Hill and 1st street. I repeat, we need EMS to Hill and 1st street.”_

Shouldering his bag, Eddie nodded at Buck. “That’s two blocks from here.”

Knowing Eddie had the area memorized; Buck clapped him on the shoulder. “Lead the way.”

* * *

“LAFD!” Buck shouted, but his voice was drowned out by all the humming energy. 

Crowds surged in the same direction, people’s shoulders bumped into Buck’s, others stepped on his boots—it was if they were caught in wave, and if they went too slow or had to stop, the momentum would sweep them away.

“Medic!” Eddie yelled. He hurried over beside Buck, looping his arm through the bend in Buck’s elbow, then Eddie took Hen’s, the three of them forming a locked chain. 

Buck held onto for dear life, grateful for the anchor. 

Yelling _medic_ got more of a reaction that LAFD and some people gave them a wide enough berth to maneuver.

Buck hated crowds. He didn’t go to large events, wasn’t a fan of attending big sports games because of what it was like to leave among a thong of people all in a hurry to home at the same time.

All the various sensations were overwhelming: people shouting slogans, people _yelling at each other_ , antagonism mixing with the scent of sweat and alcohol all adding to the a surging charge of adrenaline in the air. 

“Where are we even going?” Buck asked, panting.

“There!” Hen yelled.

The throng spilled into an intersection. There was a small green space with stone statues at the center of a roundabout. Buck spotted several cops trying to direct the masses around the intersection while others kept an eye on the crowds from behind barriers. 

The police presence didn’t look organized; several officers were on their radios while others looked around with dazed expressions.

“LAFD!” Buck shouted.

Keeping their locked arms together Buck, Eddie, and Hen hurried toward the edge of the green space as two cops ran over, the five of them finding a spot near a barricade to talk. 

A police officer in his early forties made quick introductions. “I’m Watkins. This is my partner Baca.”

“We got a request for first responders?” Hen asked. 

Watkins ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I don’t know who made that call. Some idiot tried climbing one of the statues here then fell. His buddies dragged him away.”

“Who’s coordinating medical triage?” Eddie asked, glancing around. “Where are the other agencies?”

“Do you see any coordination going on?” Baca asked. He was young, likely a rookie. 

Buck’s head buzzed. He’d read online about a demonstration against some government thing or another, but this…. “I thought this was going to be some fringe groups, a few hundred conspiracy nuts who wanted to march downtown.” 

“This looks like a hell lot more than that,” Hen muttered.

“We don’t know what happened. We think a lot of chatter occurred on message boards. By 11 am we estimated about five thousand extremists had gathered,” Watkins said. “Then a bunch of yahoos in military uniforms started showing up.”

“And not to be outdone, a bunch of hippies and For Peace organizations thought it’d be a bright idea to counter-protest,” Baca said. 

A series of loud, rapid noises made Buck flinch. 

“That sounded like it was coming from the direction of City Hall,” Eddie said.

Hen looked on unconvinced. “Seemed closer than that.”

“Sound travels,” Eddie reassured them. “That’s at least eight klicks away.”

Hen raised an eyebrow. “What to tell the rest of the class how far that really is?”

Before Eddie could answer, three more explosions went off. People started screaming.

“Those others were mostly flash bangs, but that last one?” Eddie shook his head, his jaw clenched. “Definably not.”

Buck couldn’t believe how calm Eddie appeared when talking about the possibility of bombs on the scene.

Watkins took a call on his radio. “We’re getting reports that a mob is trying to storm City Hall.”

“You guys better find cover,” Baca said, trying to corral them away. “This is going to get ugly.”

Hen pulled away from the officer’s outstretched hand. “Half the people here are just college students trying to take a stand against those who’d rather destroy government buildings.”

Baca stared at Hen like she was crazy; Hen made it clear she wasn’t going anywhere. It was a stand-off. There was no command structure or communication set-up. There wasn’t even any extra staffing or equipment. They would be walking into the eye of the storm without a lifeline. 

“We could return to the truck,” Buck suggested, although it was the last thing he wanted to do. “Or we could—"

“Keep moving,” Eddie said brokering no argument. “People are going to get hurt.”

“I’m sorry, guys, but I don’t have anyone to spare to give you police escorts,” Watkins told them. 

Buck studied Eddie’s determined expression, the stiff way he held his shoulders. It was the same grim resolve matching Buck’s own demeanor. Hen looked between them, nodding. The three of them didn’t need words; they each understood the risk. 

They had a job to do.

* * *

While jostling for position within the human swell, they ended up at a courtyard in front of an upscale business hotel. A reporter stood on one of the few picnic tables. “This is Sara Blankenship with KTLA news. I’m standing just feet away from the growing mob where there is no sense that the city police have any control over the situation.”

It was true. Unlike the throngs of people hustling toward downtown, this felt like a flashpoint. Masses swelled in front of the government building. One wave of people pushed toward a small line of police and through barriers; a second wave in the opposite direction carried the injured back outside.

Buck knelt in front of a woman cradling a broken arm. “It’s going to be okay; I promise.”

Hen crouched beside him, wrapping a bandage around the forehead of a man in his sixties who, despite bleeding profusely, still had enough breath to yell at the police standing more than ten meters away. “Please, sir. If you could just remain still,” she asked. 

After putting his patient’s arm in a temporary splint, Buck started looking around for the next person to treat. He spotted Eddie helping a young teenager, a dozen others trailing behind him.

Two male civilians stood off to the side while Eddie spoke. “I’ve got a teenage female with a laceration to her forehead and probable concussion. Thirty-year-old male with a sprained ankle. Another female, age 40, with injury to her eyes from a projectile.”

Eddie gave a stack of triage tags to the two guys standing beside him, then helped the teen sit on the grass.

One of the civilians nodded at Buck and Hen. “I’m Mike and this is Tommy; we’re both off-duty nurses. We came down to help when we heard reports on the radio.”

“Thanks,” Hen said, taking the patient with the sprained ankle. “We could use all the help we can get.”

Buck pulled out a pressure bandage for the laceration victim when he saw Eddie turn around and start walking back toward the chaos. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”

Eddie squinted at Buck in confusion. “There’s lot of walking wounded out there but it’s about to get worse. I saw SWAT and at least a dozen more police units arrive.”

“And you’re going to do what?” Buck demanded.

“Triage.” Eddie turned around and started walking off. 

Handing off his laceration victim to the Tommy guy, Buck grabbed Eddie’s elbow. “You don’t have a clearly-marked EMS uniform. You’re just in your LAFD gear.”

While most people could easier identify them as firefighters, in the heat of unrest they could easy be confused as the police instead of as EMS responders. 

Eddie gave Buck a look of such determination, it sent a shiver down his spine. “These people need help. I know how to navigate hostile environments.”

“This is a riot, not Afghanistan,” Buck blurted. 

“And I’m trained Army medic,” Eddie said, stepping forward. “This is just another battlefield with a whole lot of civilians caught up in the middle.”

Buck understood Eddie’s desire to jump in and help, felt it in his very bones, and a tiny part of him was screaming about rules and regulations, but then again, how often did he ignore those? “Well, you’re not going back there alone.”

“Hen needs—"

“Hen can coordinate things from here,” she said not looking up at them. “Hopefully, I can get through to someone on the radio to help coordinate routes to the closest ERs.”

Grabbing his pack off the ground, Buck clapped Eddie on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Buck had run into burning buildings, scaled down ravines, and had entered vehicles that were about to get crushed by an oncoming train. But nothing could prepare him for this. 

People threw rocks and bottles at the police, and while a mob surged forward, hundreds were trying to escape the wave of violence.

Buck spotted three girls May’s age with tears running down their faces, hands clutching battered and torn posters. Behind them, two middle-aged men with Nazi tattoos on their arms argued at two other middle-aged men carrying American flags.

That was when Buck realized this wasn’t chaos; it was a powered keg exploding in real time.

“They’re using tear-gas!” someone yelled. 

“Buck, masks!” Eddie said, gripping his arm tight.

Buck had already started putting on his, noting how Eddie hadn’t let go of his bicep, guiding Buck around the fray. In the last hour Buck had noticed something different about Eddie, an added heaviness in his voice, a commanding presence that expected people to listen and follow his lead. 

Before Buck could wrap his head around how that made him feel, tear gas filled the air.

“Cover your faces!” Eddie yelled at the crowds. “Use your t-shirts. Cover your heads!”

A woman ran into Buck, her eyes too swollen to see. He helped move her away from the spreading clouds. “I’m a firefighter. Do you have any water?”

“Yes,” she said in between sobs.

Taking the shaking water bottle from her hands, Buck tilted her face up and poured a steady stream over her eyes and face. 

He helped two, three, four more people, using the last of the water bottle, but there were still more victims in search of relief.

A hand tapped his shoulder. Eddie stood beside him, pointing at something. “There’s a food stand over there.”

It took a second for Buck to follow Eddie’s line of thinking, the two of them dodging streams of people running in every direction. 

“Hey!” Eddie pounded on the outside of the food truck. “Emergency EMS.”

“What do you want?” a guy yelled from inside.

“We need water!” Buck yelled back.

“I ran out an hour ago.”

Eddie leaned on the outside door in frustration. “What about milk or bottles of soda?”

“Soda?” the guy echoed.

“It’ll neutralize the effects of tear gas.” Eddie pounded the door again. “Come on, people are hurting.”

A small, roly-poly man opened the door and started handing Eddie and Buck bottles of Coke.

“Do you have any baking soda?” Eddie asked, juggling all the bottles.

“This is a hotdog truck.”

Eddie looked around at the tiny vehicle again. “Right.”

Buck shoved all the bottles of Coke into his jacket pockets while Eddie began corralling people suffering from the effects of the tear gas toward them. 

A line formed. Buck, Eddie and the Hot Dog Man helping those with chemical burns to their faces. 

“Take a cold shower for at least 20 minutes—this will prevent tear gas from irritating your skin any further,” Eddie told the huddled groups. 

Sweat poured down Buck’s face, his breathing heavy from the combined impact of the afternoon heat and his gas mask. 

They went through a dozen bottles of soda between the three of them, but more and more people needed help.

A few kids on bikes rode toward them their backpacks filled with gallons of milk. They helped take over. 

A few activists joined them—young college kids—helping coordinate the effect. A few older adults ran over, too, bringing more victims.

“How much of their stuff are they shooting off?” Buck asked. 

He started recognizing the sound of the canisters exploding in the background; wherever he looked, clouds still lingered in the air.

Eddie took off his gas mask. “Cover your skin!” he yelled at those still wandering, dazed. 

Quickly putting his mask back on, Eddie looked around, his posture relaxing minutely after spotting Buck.

People adapted, some started wearing bandanas around their faces, and some had goggles. Buck noticed a few people dressed in military fatigues walking around, unfazed by the whole thing, shoving their way passed others. It made his skin crawl. 

The reporter and her camera man ran toward them. “This is Sara Blankenship with KTLA news. I’m with a couple of first responders. Could you please tell our viewers what’s happening here? What can people do to protect themselves?”

“They can leave,” Buck said, panting. “That means everyone.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” the reporter. “We have a job to do, same as you.”

“Hey, don’t touch those!”

Buck turned around at the sound of Eddies’ voice only to find him chasing off some guy wearing a face shield trying to pick up one of the tear gas canisters. 

“Dude, what’s your deal?” the kid yelled. 

“Unless you want second degree burns to your hands, don’t grab it.” Eddie kicked the canister toward an empty area then got right up into the teenager’s face. “These things are weapons. You go it?”

The guy stared at Eddie before taking off, the camera man recording the whole thing. 

Buck hurried toward Eddie and took him by the arm. “Do you have a plan? Because we can’t just run around out here at random.”

Eddie’s chest heaved; his noisy breaths audible inside his mask. “These kids have no idea what they're playing around with. They don’t freaking get it.”

The tone in Eddie’s voice was so uncharacteristic; sharp and angry. Worried. It took Buck a second to find the right words. “No, they don’t, but some of these people…,” He looked at another group of men dressed in black fatigues wearing freaking body armor. “Some of them _are very prepared….”_

 _“Buck, Eddie,”_ Hen’s voice crackled over the coms.

“We read you, over,” Buck answered.

_“I’ve finally reached Bobby on the radio. There’s a command center set up by the basin and there’s several small teams of EMS with me at the hotel. We’ve got ways to transport the injured to hospitals.”_

Buck glanced at Eddie who was listening and nodding. “Copy that,” Buck replied. “We could really use some help out here.”

_“They’re still trying to put together strike teams. We don’t know what’s been with messing with our communications; they think it has something to do with a down relay tower in the area.”_

Buck could practically feel Eddie’s eye roll from behind his mask.

_“Bobby wants you guys to pull back until there are enough police to escort us into the impact zone.”_

Buck stared at Eddie watching all the bloody and bruised people limping around lost and confused. 

_“Buck,”_ Bobby’s garbled voice came over the coms. _“You and Eddie stand-down. We can’t track your signal and we have no way of knowing where to direct resources.”_

Buck bit his lip knowing Cap was right. Eddie, on the other hand, was already in motion. 

“Hey, you.” Eddie jogged toward the reporter and her camera man. “Are you filming right now?”

“We’re streaming live on our website and breaking away for special reports,” she replied. 

Eddie grabbed his radio. “Cap, it’s Eddie. If you tune into KTLA news’s website, they’re going to be our eyes and ears out here. We can direct the medical strike teams to where they’re needed most.”

Buck held his breath during the long stretch of silence followed, knowing that if Bobby didn’t go for it, he and Eddie could be up on insubordination. Because despite how _by the book_ Eddie was on a daily basis, he was a live-wire right now. 

Buck knew Eddie; knew what he was thinking. He wasn’t going to retreat, and Buck would have his back. Because that was how it’d been between them since day one.

 _“Copy that,”_ Bobby replied. _“But if things get too out of control, you pull out. Is that understood?”_

“Copy,” Eddie said.

Buck felt a sense of relief for exactly two seconds before getting down to business. He signaled the news crew to follow them as they ran toward what everyone else was fleeing from.

* * *

Buck knelt on the grass while he cut open a man’s shirt with scissors then wrapped a BP cuff around his arm, the news reporter describing their location on air. The tear gas had dispersed enough where they could work without their masks. 

“I’ve got signs of blunt force trauma,” Eddie said, doing a brief examination. “Fifth and sixth ribs are crunchy.”

Buck inflated the cuff. “BP’s 90 over 70 and dropping.”

Eddie listened to the man’s chest with his stethoscope. “Decreased breath sounds.” He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “We’re got a tension pneumothorax.”

Buck handed Eddie a 14-gauge needle before needing to be asked. He watched Eddie perform a needle decompression while chaos raged behind them, the news crew a few feet away, the reporter’s voice a droning sound in Buck’s head. 

By the time their patient started breathing, EMS personnel wearing body armor with giant red crosses painted on their chests took over the scene.

“We can transport him,” one of them said.

As soon as their patient was placed on a stretcher Buck and Eddie were onto the next victim. 

They moved a few meters and stopped, moved and stopped, evaluating patients, filling out triage tags. 

“Keep heading toward the Marriott hotel,” Buck instructed those with minor injuries. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie said walking with another woman and her husband rattling of instructions while they went. “Just keep pressure on the wound and keep following that line of people towards help.”

Buck rested a hand on Eddie’s shoulder as they maneuvered around people. The closer they got to City Hall, the louder and more chaotic it seemed.

A series of _thudding_ sounds made Buck freeze in his tracks. Eddie pushed him toward the ground, the two of them on their hands and knees, breathing heavily.

“What the hell is that?” Buck yelled.

“Doesn’t sound like standard ammo. My guess’s rubber bullets.” Eddie stared out at the crowd. “Looks the mob got inside. I can see broken windows from here.”

“How in the hell did all of this happen?” Buck breathed. 

“Does it matter?” Eddie asked. 

“It does. People used to be able to go out and protest…about whatever. But now….”

“Most people just want their voices heard. Doesn’t matter the opinion.” Eddie’s voice sounded distant, forlorn, like he was seeing things through eyes that had witnessed too much evil in life. _“These people?_ The ones hurting everyone, they’re not here to protest. They just crave violence.”

Buck resisted the urge to reach out and take Eddie’s hand. Instead, he watched as a line of men and women dressed in riot gear make their way toward the government building, dread filling his chest.

“Hey, stop it! Leave that alone!”

Buck scrambled to his feet at the sound of the distress. He spotted a group of men surround their news crew. One of them had tossed her microphone to the ground. 

A guy dressed in army fatigues got into the reporter’s face. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sara Blankenship with KTLA--”

The army guy yanked the press identification off the chain around her neck. “You’re an enemy of the state.”

“Hey!” Buck yelled, running over.

“LAFD!” Eddie shouted, right on Buck’s heels. “Step aside.”

The small group of men didn’t budge, the Army Guy nodding at them. “There ain’t no fire here, man.”

“Leave,” Eddie growled. “I’m not telling you again.”

“You don’t have any authority,” the guy’s buddy said. 

The mini mob was all middle-aged men, some were overweight, but the others looked like they could stand their ground in a fight. One sketchy dude to the far left had a gun secured in a holster. They all stank of beer. 

Buck stood right next to Eddie and stared down all five men, making eye contact with each individual one until his gazed rested on Army Guy. “We’re public-safety officials who work hand-in-hand with the police and local agencies,” Buck growled. “So, yes, _we_ do.”

“I don’t recognize your authority,” Army Guy said, stepping closer to Buck and Eddie, his gut bulging slightly over his belt. But he was tall and broad-shouldered and kept inching closer. “It’s all fake news.”

“The only thing fake around here is you and those store-bought army fatigues. Your undershirt is the wrong color; your pants aren’t bloused right.” With every word, Eddie took a step forward and the mini mob took a collective step back, Eddie’s voice steel, his eyes boring into Army Guy like he might tear him apart with his bare hands. “You’re a disgrace to those who’ve fought to earn the right to wear that uniform. Those who’ve _died_ wearing it. I’ve patched up men and women with more courage and patriotism in their little finger than the five of you put together.”

Taking a breath, Eddie stood unflinching. “So, I’ll say this only one more time. _Step. Aside.”_

Fake Army Guy’s nostrils flared, but he backed down under Eddie’s gaze, moving away from the reporter, his buddies following him, especially as more people gathered nearby, watching.

The five men parted ways; the reporter glanced at her camera man. “Please tell me you got all of that?”

Buck released a breath, partially from adrenaline, partially at how drawn to Eddie he’d become, at the sheer control Eddie had over the situation, putting those assholes in their place. For the briefest of moments, Buck admitted how turned-on it made him.

He didn’t even have time to process that last thought before the next cry for help sent them running.

* * *

Buck and Eddie passed rioters and vandals in the act of tearing the city down.

“Help us! This cop needs help!”

Three people hurried in their direction with a man in a police uniform draped between them.

A woman ran ahead of them. “The mob, they…they just kept beating him. I…I…this wasn’t supposed to happen. We’re patriots, we stand by the police.”

Buck ignored the woman as he knelt beside the injured officer; his face swollen beyond recognition.

“Sir, can you hear me?” Buck asked. 

“Pupils uneven,” Eddie said, shining a light into the officer’s eyes. “No spontaneous eye opening.”

“Sir, this Buck from LAFD, can you hear me?” Buck asked over the growing noise and chaos in the background. He looked up at Eddie. “No response to verbal commands.”

“This is Sara Blankenship; it would appear that the police are using tears gas to try to force the mob back.”

Gunshots rang-out in the distance. A woman screamed.

“This will be the start of a civil war revolution!” A man yelled, running. 

Buck kept looking up at all violence unfolding all around them, humanity tearing itself apart, his heart racing inside his chest. He tried tuning it out, but it was so damn hard to ignore.

“Buck, look at me.”

Buck locked eyes with Eddie; eyes that were calm and focused and trusting.

“Just take a deep breath. We’ve got this. _You’ve got this.”_

Inhaling, Buck counted to five and slowly exhaled, some of the anxiety going with it. He swallowed, nodding at Eddie before continuing his evaluation. “Abnormal flexion. Glasgow Coma Scale, 5.”

“Everyone move back!” Someone yelled on a bullhorn.

This time, Buck’s attention was on the medical strike-team running toward them, carrying a stretcher.

* * *

Buck leaned against the back of a building; he wasn’t sure which one, the night sky filling with smoke. His eyes burned and his throat hurt. And every time he stared down at his hands, they trembled slightly.

Hen walked over, her foots step weary as she handed him a bottle of water. “We’re heading out soon.”

“Curfew?”

“Yeah. I want to be long in bed before then.” 

They sat without speaking, the silence interrupted by a distant siren or a popping sound that could represent anything.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she finally asked.

“I just…I don’t know now to reconcile with what I saw today. Society at its worst.”

“And at its best. Every day citizens seeing what was happening to their city and showing up to counter protest, to show the world we will not bow to violence. Strangers helping each other.” Hen sighed. “But I’m glad these are very rare. I can’t imagine having to perform under that type of stress all the time.”

“Eddie did. I mean…” Buck still couldn’t believe how easily Eddie performed, how he just took over. 

“We all have different experiences. I’ve seen stuff in my neighborhood growing up you wouldn't believe. And Eddie, he went to war.”

“Twice.” Buck closed his eyes his head spinning. “I guess you adapt.”

“Or you learn how to block things out. Not necessarily the healthiest thing.”

Buck allowed Hens words sink in before looking up at her. “Where is he?”

* * *

It took a while, but eventually Buck found Eddie at the museum parking lot where they’d first arrived, crawling on his hands and knees with a flashlight.

“Um, didn’t Cap give the rig a once over, already?” Buck asked.

Eddie poked his entire head beneath the under carriage inching from left to right before crawling back out. “Yeah, but I was just looking…for you know….”

“No, I don’t.”

Buck waited while Eddie got to his feet, dusting his pants off with his hands. Turning off the flashlight, he clipped it onto his belt. “It’s been left unsecured all day. Part of me just wanted….”

Then it dawned on Buck what Eddie was searching for, his heart sinking. “You, um, thought maybe someone planted a bomb?”

“They have before.” Eddie swallowed, looking at Buck, his eyes betraying a thousand different horrible memories. “And you can’t take a chance with these militia types.”

“No, you can’t. Although you stood up to a bunch without hesitation.” Buck stepped closer, feeling that pull again, an irresistible draw. “Like, I was seriously impressed.”

“They were bunch of wannabe assholes.”

“Who still outnumbered us.” Buck watched Eddie shrug off the compliment. “Seriously, you were a pro out there, thinking on your feet, never wavering when the world was literally in flames all around us.”

“It’s the job. I mean, at least no one was shooting at us.”

The way Eddie said the last part, the droll humor, hit Buck like a punch to the gut. 

“Yeah, you’ve said that before.” Then, the penny dropped as he thought of the day they first met, of egos and grandstanding, to mere hours ago, surrounded by fear and threat of mob violence. “It never really hit me until today what that meant, I mean, what it could have possible felt like.” Buck stomach clenched as his vivid imagination took over. “Performing triage while people are really trying to kill you. And we weren’t even in a real warzone.”

“It still felt like one,” Eddie said his voice a little strangled. 

And there it was, that soft, tender side of Eddie, the vulnerable part that Eddie rarely displayed.

“I bet.” Buck stepped closer to Eddie. Gone was the aura of super competence, of barely continued energy and fire. This was _his_ Eddie, Christopher’s Eddie, strong-willed, but reserved, and a hell of a lot more world-weary. Buck’s throat went dry. “But you still handled things like a damn badass.”

“The last time I checked you were right there,” Eddie reminded him, looking at Buck with admiration. 

“Yeah, that’s true. But I wasn’t drawn to them like I was to you.” Eddie’s eyes got big and Buck fumbled, trying to backtrack. “What I mean was that you…you’re something else. You kept your head down when mine was racing with way too many thoughts.”

“You were amazing out there, Buck. Give yourself some more credit.” Eddie reached out, his hand ghosting down Buck’s arm. “At the end of the day we both got through it. No one can prepare for what we just went through.”

“But you have, right? I mean, in the Army. See, I couldn’t do that.” Buck snorted. “When I thought about trying out for the Navy, I couldn’t get that past that expectation, you know? Shutting off your emotions, forcing it all out of your head.” A tremble went through his fingers. “See. My hands are still shaking.”

Eddie reached over and gently took Buck’s hand into his own. Buck caught his breath. “And yours are pretty damn steady.”

“My hands still shake sometimes, just later, when my brain stops shielding the rest of me from what I’ve experienced. Sometimes at the worst time.” Eddie didn’t break the hold, his voice thick, quiet. “It reminds us that we’re still human.”

“Eddie,” Buck swallowed, a rush of adrenaline and feelings making his dizzy. “I’m feeling a lot of very _human_ emotions right now.” 

Eddie stepped even closer as Buck traced the contours of Eddie’s cheek, the warm skin, the slight stumble. “Please tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

Buck pressed his lips to Eddie’s, the kiss, sweet and tender. His face flushed and his skin tingled from his head down to his toes.

Heart racing, Buck pulled away, breathless. “I’m sorry, maybe….”

“No, don’t apologize,” Eddie said, resting his forehead against Buck’s. “Don’t ever. Not for this. There’s so much pain in the world, Buck, so much hate.”

Buck wrapped his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, clinging to him tightly, relishing the feel of him as more sirens blared in the distance. “I won’t. I promise, Eddie. I promise.”

And Buck held onto Eddie, the two them each other’s anchor.

* * *

Fini-

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